


Drunk Texts

by LearnToShareFeanor



Series: Glorestor Drabbles [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Drunk Texting, Erestor has a filthy mouth, Heavy Drinking, M/M, Prompt Fill, So i tried a new style of writing, Trigger Warning for Alcoholism, attempt to stop drinking, but they're not really involved, mentioned Ecthelion and Lindir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4979455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnToShareFeanor/pseuds/LearnToShareFeanor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, late at night, Glorfindel gets drunk texts from a guy he doesn't know. Sometimes, late at night, Erestor stares at his bottle of whiskey, or gin, or whatever it is that night, and texts some guy he doesn't know to alleviate the loneliness. 2 part with possible sequel. Prompt fill. Not the humor that I usually try to write, but there may be a funny part in here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Glorfindel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [torinighthawk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/torinighthawk/gifts).



> So, I’m kinda stuck on chapter 5 of Courting Mishaps. That’s probably going to be posted in mid or early November due to a TON of tests. Meanwhile, to keep my creative juices flowing, I’m going back to prompts from friends and Tumblr! This one is going to be a 2 part. I’m also going to be trying to write in first person because I suck at it and desperately need practice.
> 
> Let me know if you want a 3rd chapter or continuation in the comments!
> 
> Prompt: ‘I have a contact in my phone named Drunk Guy(/Girl) bc this guy literally keeps drunk texting me, and we text a lot when he’s wasted and sometimes the morning after to make sure he’s okay and I’ve never met him but he’s my age and lives around here’ au from torinighthawk  
> ‘texting’  
> “talking”  
> ‘thinking’

                **Your live doesn't get better by chance.**

**It gets better by change.**

**-Jim Rohn**

 

                I started as my phone buzzed on my nightstand. Groaning, I rolled over and looked at the time. 3:17 AM. Grumbling, I threw an arm over my eyes, and let myself fall back to sleep. ‘Bzzzz’ went my phone. _‘Seriously? Who the hell is this?’_ Snarling, I grabbed my phone, unlocked it, and blinked to allow my eyes to adjust to the sudden blinding light. 2 Messages from DRUNK GUY.

                ‘Hey bae u there’, was shortly followed by, ‘Come over, I got a bottle of whiskey with ur name on it’. I frowned. I’d refused to tell the stranger my name, and so was usually called bae or sexy. It was rather annoying.

                ‘I’m not your bae, it’s 3 AM, stop drinking, and go to SLEEP.’ Satisfied, I released his phone and began to relax once more. BZZZZZ.

                “Uhhh…..noooooo…….” I whined. I couldn’t resist the temptation in the end, however, and glanced at my phone again.

                ‘Yah no. Night bae, sweet dreems. Think of me :-))))))’

                I growled at the phone and didn’t respond.

                The next morning, I woke up at 6 as normal and checked my phone again. No new text. I bit my lip and sent a new message. ‘Hey, are you okay? You were pretty out of it last night.’ By the time I was finished showering and brushing my teeth, I had a few new texts in.

                ‘I’m k. Yeah, I had a bit too much. My brother invited me for drinks, then my dad decided he wanted to get me drunk.’ ’I’m on my cousin’s couch, so I must have come here sometime.’ ‘Mom died last year on the day, so we’re all pretty shook up.’

                I winced in sympathy. Well, at least I wasn’t being called bae anymore, and my new friend had learned some semblance of grammar.

                ‘I’m sorry about your mom. Maybe you should try and talk to someone about it, instead of just getting drunk.’

                No reply came and I sighed, pulling on my shoes. I headed towards the gym where I worked as a personal fitness trainer, and it was almost 8 PM when I received a reply.

                ‘Do you want to go out sometime? We can see a movie or something.’

                I found himself blushing even though no one was around. No one _ever_ went to the gym after 6 PM on a Tuesday, except for the odd fitness nut or two. ‘Yeah, sure. No drinking, though.’ I winced and wished I could take it back. _‘No drinking, though. Really? His mom is dead, and I’m just going to sound like a bitch and tell him how to live his life. Way to be dad, Fin.’_

‘What are you, a tee-totaler? I don’t drink THAT much.’

                ‘Yeah, sorry. Just slipped out.’

                ‘Right. Maybe next week on the movie.’

                ‘That’s fine with me. Do you have anything in mind?’

                It wasn’t until next Monday that I received a reply. By then, I’d almost forgotten about the possible date, which would’ve been the first one since I’d been divorced.

                ‘Maze Runner’s in theaters. What do you think?’

                It took me a very long, confused moment to figure out why I’d received a text about that. I scrolled up, winced at my gaffe, and replied, ‘I’m off on Thursdays and Sundays. Around 6-ish good for you?’

                ‘Yeah, 6 is fine. It’ll have to be Sunday, I work the late shift on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Can I have your name? Or should I just keep calling you bae? ;-)’

                I was absurdly grateful that the other person’s sense of humor had returned. ‘Lol, call me Fin. Everybody does.’

                ‘Sounds good. I’ll meet you outside the theater @6. I’m Erestor, by the way.’

                I smiled. “Erestor. Sounds interesting.”


	2. Erestor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of Drunk Texts! I hope you enjoy. The prompt for this chapter is below, and ‘this’ is texting, ‘this’ is thinking, and “this” is speaking.
> 
> “I keep getting drunk as hell and texting this one contact in my phone that Facebook gave me bc the kid goes to my school or something, and he doesn’t seem to have my number or realize it’s me but it’s whatever” au for torinighthawk
> 
> Hey! I now have a gmail that you can contact me at if you'd just like to chat, or to give me prompts, request gifts, ect. It's LearnToShareFeanor@gmail.com. You can find it on my profile as well.

    **Your live doesn't get better by chance.**

**It gets better by change.**

**-Jim Rohn**

             I’m lonely. No, I’m not the fucking forever alone guy. I’ve had sex, had girlfriends, had boyfriends, still lonely. _‘What the hell?’_ I think, and take another shot of Vodka. Shrugging, I follow it up by throwing the shot glass halfway across the room and chugging a quarter of the bottle. My phone dings, some stupid notification about updates, and I’m tempted to throw that across the room too. Then I get the stupid idea to text somebody. I scroll randomly down my contacts until I hit TALK TO ME. One of my friends from high school, Elrohir, gave me this number, said he got it off Facebook as a prank.

            ‘Hey bae u there’ I ask. No response. ‘Come over, I got a bottle of whiskey with ur name on it’

            I take another swig of Vodka and my phone beeps at me again. ‘I’m not your bae, it’s 3 AM, stop drinking, and go to SLEEP.’

            My brain is fuzzy, but I smile anyway, and say, “Nope nope nope! C’mere, I’ll tire you out, make you get shleepy.” I scowl at my phone. It didn’t send my text, and it takes me a moment to realize that I never typed it in. Whatever.

            ‘Yah no. Night bae, sweet dreems. Think of me :-))))))’ I smile and take another swig, emptying the bottle. I toss it, and it ends in a pile with four other empty bottles. My cousin and I have had too much, I know, but I don’t care. Yawning, I let my eyes close, determined that I would just rest them for a second or two.

            Beeping woke me up, and I groaned. My stomach is churning, head aching, and eyes swimming with grit and unshed tears. There’s a glass of water by the couch and a note that says ‘bye, Res, thanks for coming over here. Made me feel better.- Thel’ I choke it down, knowing the worst thing to do is become even more dehydrated. I find Aspirin nearby and take 2 of them as well, before checking my phone. I know who it is, though, and I smile before I read it. He- or maybe she, I don’t know- always texts me after a bender. _‘I love you’,_ I think, shocking myself.

            ‘Hey, are you okay? You were pretty out of it last night.’

            Am I okay? I don’t know. Maybe yes, more likely never. ‘I’m k. Yeah, I had a bit too much. My brother invited me for drinks, then my dad decided he wanted to get me drunk.’ ’I’m on my cousin’s couch, so I must have come here sometime.’ ‘Mom died last year on the day, so we’re all pretty shook up.’

            _‘God, Res, that’s smart. Why don’t you just tell them that your brother, Lindir, isn’t actually your brother, he’s adopted. And why not tell them your cousin, Thel, is actually your blood half-brother thanks to a cheating father and aunt._ I can’t believe I told them that. The only thing I can think of is that maybe some of the alcohol hasn’t worn off. My phone beeps at me again, distracting me.

            ‘I’m sorry about your mom. Maybe you should try and talk to someone about it, instead of just getting drunk.’

            I go upstairs, take a shower, ignore the text. I get dressed again, walk home (it’s only a 30 minute walk, not far), and ignore the text. I change, go to the store, ignore the text. I put up the groceries, take out the dog, ignore the text. I keep on ignoring it- it’s too painfully honest. I’m used to the snide comments about my drinking; I’m a functional alcoholic, I drink damn near constantly. _‘Instead of just getting drunk.’_ They don’t understand, they _can’t_. I’ve tried to quit, but then everyone I know insists on buying me drinks. Hell, one time, Lindir- the most supportive of the bunch- bought me a bottle of gin to celebrate 6 months sober. I broke down on him so bad he didn’t talk to me for a month. It didn’t matter, though, I was drunk off my ass again a week later.

            I clean up nice. As a horror novelist, I don’t have to spend a lot of time with people. When I do, I make sure I don’t drink the day before or the day after, just in case. It works. Publishers and editors who’ve know me my whole life don’t even know I drink in most cases. Even the ones that do don’t think it’s that bad- just a few on occasion.

            It’s 8 PM before I respond to the text. I know, it’s unfair. He- or she- didn’t earn me ignoring them completely for the entire day. ‘Do you want to go out sometime? We can see a movie or something.’

            ‘Yeah, sure. No drinking, though.’ I stare at the phone in rage. _‘Seriously?’_ I ask them out, and this is what they respond with?

‘What are you, a tee-totaler? I don’t drink THAT much.’ Yes I do.

‘Yeah, sorry. Just slipped out.’

‘Right. Maybe next week on the movie.’ How about no?

‘That’s fine with me. Do you have anything in mind?’

            Once again, I ignore the texts. I go back to drinking as normal- not the huge bender of last night, but at least 1 shot of hard liquor, 2 glasses of wine, or 2 beers a night. If I didn’t work out so much, I’d probably have a beer gut.

Later that week, I sit down on the couch, scratching my Rotweiller (named Daisy, fuck you if you’re scared of big dogs, she’s harmless) between her ears. “What do you think, girl?”

            Daisy looks up at me with those big, brown eyes, and pants, her stub of a tail wagging. _‘Why not? You promised me you’d quit before, anyway.’_ She seemed to say. He huffed. “Yeah I did, didn’t I girl?

            I’m already at the local gym, jogging on the treadmill, before I respond to the text.

            ‘Maze Runner’s in theaters. What do you think?’ I catch one of the trainers, a big blond hunk that I wouldn’t mind banging like a screen door in a hurricane, wince, before I turn my concentration back on the treadmill and my phone.

           ‘I’m off on Thursdays and Sundays. Around 6-ish good for you?’ What? I was expecting a blunt refusal. After all, I did just ignore them for an entire week.

           I check the time, it’s been half an hour, so I step off the treadmill and leave. On my way home, I respond, ‘Yeah, 6 is fine. It’ll have to be Sunday, I work the late shift on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Can I have your name? Or should I just keep calling you bae? ;-)’

          ‘Lol, call me Fin. Everybody does.’ Something niggled in my brain. I’d heard that before, somewhere. Oh well, it didn’t matter. Fin. Definitely a man, then.

          ‘Sounds good. I’ll meet you outside the theater @6. I’m Erestor, by the way.’

          I come home, take the dog out, go to bed. In the morning, I realize I didn’t have anything to drink last night. I look to my dog again. She whines when I open the liquor cabinet and I sigh. _‘It won’t last, you know it won’t.’_ My phone buzzes at me, some stupid notification, and I can see the message screen. I dump out the bottle of whisky that I’d been grabbing, and tried to ignore the guilt when Daisy practically danced around me. She’s a rescue, used to be a fighting dog. She’s never liked me drinking. “What do you think, girl? Can we make it last?”


End file.
